


with glowing hearts

by silentghosts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, World Juniors 2017, unnecessary sports related angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 08:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11459736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentghosts/pseuds/silentghosts
Summary: Taylor did not mean to fall in love with Michael McLeod but he did. And maybe in the end that's why they lost.





	with glowing hearts

**Author's Note:**

> this fic started with a picture, and ended six months later where i am still fucking thinking about it daily, im sorry for never shutting up about this on twitter when either of them as much as breathe in vaguely the same geographical location. thanks to a who fed me information rink side for fucking months in a row despite not actually caring about this incredibly niche ship, M who read this over months ago and made it better than it ever would have been otherwise, and k who held my hand through the beginning of this, through the tournament and out the other side, you make me the best version of me.
> 
> also to this years wjc group who brought me the most joy and the most pain i have ever known. 
> 
> Mikey McLeod and Taylor Raddysh stood next to each other in ever presentation line until they didn't and I might never be over this.
> 
> #yowhatevs

Taylor doesn’t know what to think when he’s assigned a room with Michael McLeod, the coaching staff reading out their names in the hotel lobby after their first day of camp. They know each other of course – six years of playing minors together with the Marlboros is enough common ground that Taylor doesn’t think it will be awkward. But even then Mikey already had his own clique, The Mississauga Contingent and Taylor – well at age 10 Taylor had spent most of his life stumbling around in Darren’s shadow, his jersey only slightly too large for him as he waited to finally hit a growth spurt.

They both reach for their keys at the same time and Dylan laughs, calls it the Marlboros connection, shoving them both playfully in the direction of their room as he takes off down the hall in an attempt to tackle Barzal. 

 

Taylor remembers the first time he met Mikey. He was 10 years old and it was the first day of Marlboros camp and his mom had dropped him off 5 minutes early because Darren had a dentist appointment that they had already had to reschedule twice. The rink was familiar anyway, two years of hanging around already spent before Taylor finally got the chance to lace up his skates and pull the blue sweater over his head. It could be Darren’s old jersey, the number and the name on the back the same. Taylor doesn’t mind – he's wanted to be his brother for as long as he can remember, since those first fumbling steps on the pond forever captured in their family photo album. 

There was no one in the locker room when he got there so Taylor had just been sitting in his stall lacing up his skates when the door finally swung open.

“Raddysh, right?” a voice had said, a pair of worn sneakers coming to a stop in front of Taylor.

Taylor had looked up to find a boy in a snapback with a blinding smile, his hand already outstretched in Taylor’s direction. 

“Mikey,” he said, reaching out to shake his hand, his palm awkwardly warm and sweaty. 

“I think we’re going to be great friends,” he said after camp, the two of them sitting side-by-side as they stripped out of their gear. They wouldn't be, of course, but still, the image of 10-year-old Michael McLeod with one too many teeth and bad hair was glued into Taylor's brain forever. 

 

“You know, I think Mat might actually be insane,” Taylor says lying on his back, his eyes closed as he lets the exhaustion of camp wash over him. It's only been three days but everything about Team Canada is just so much. Taylor didn’t know what to expect, but he feels pushed to his limits every time he walks out that door. Even Dylan, who at the height of the Otters playoff run last year had managed to seem relaxed for brief periods of times, has been a laser-focused, coiled up ball of stress since day one. Barzal and him going over game tape in every spare second their have determined not to have to endure a repeat of Helsinki. 

“Barzal?” Mikey asks from the bed next to him. 

“Who else would I be talking about? Jo? ” Taylor says as he hears Mikey shrug “Anyways the point is, Maty B, confirmed bonkers.”

Mikey laughs. 

“What did he even do?”

“During the scrimmage today he comes up to me and was just all like okay so I'm going to get all up in Ingram’s face and you’re going to shoot glove side as if Connor hadn’t thrown a blocker at him before,” Taylor tells him, flipping onto his side so that he can see Mikey his head tilted back against the pillows.

“Didn’t you score on that play?” he says twisting his head towards Taylor, one arm stretched above his head, the other dangling off the bed into the aisle between them.

“Well yes but that's not the point, the point is that I currently have a player with a death wish as my center,” says Taylor.

“At least you have a center,” Mikey says bitterly, his smile tightening as he turns away.

“Hey,” Taylor says softly, reaching out to knock his hand again Mikey’s “You’re gonna make it, you’ve been playing fucking great out there with everyone, you’ll find your fit.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Mikey says, a small smile stretching across his face as they lapse into comfortable silence, the sound of the TV in the background filling the air.

 

The summer before Taylor's first season in Bantam a couple of things happened: Darren was drafted by the Erie Otters, Taylor kissed a boy and Mikey grew into his long bony limbs and became something better than Taylor had ever seen. It wasn’t the first time Taylor wanted Mikey. He wanted to be his friend back when they first shook hands in that empty locker room. Wanted to be him, when Taylor grew jealous of the way that Mikey drew people to him, flitting amongst a crowd with a too bright smile and his hands in his pocket. Wanted to have him, when he leant down and helped Taylor off the ice after a bad hit in a game, his arm protectively snaking its way around Taylor’s waist just tight enough that for a moment Taylor could imagine it. 

So Taylor kissed Travis in the summer and it was short and sweet and his hands were shaking but Travis had said it was okay. Travis who had been Taylor's best friend for as long as he could remember, who smiled at him and said you can if you want. And now Mikey was back and his hair was long and his smile just as wide and bright as Taylor remembered and he wanted him, wanted to kiss him but he couldn’t. 

 

They make it to the final cut. The coaches announced were finalising the team tonight and Mikey can’t sit still. He’s pacing the room at length, wringing his hands together while Taylor sits on the bed and stares blankly at the TV screen. Neither of them are a lock, they both know that. They’re not Dylan or Mat who are destined to war it out for the C, Taylor’s a second rounder who didn’t even get an invite to camp, he's not stupid about his chances, he just hopes he’s done enough. 

The room phone rings, snapping Taylor out of his trance. Mikey freezes against the door, his body frozen in a rigid straight line as Taylor reaches over and slaps the loudspeaker button, his other hands tangling in his sheets.

“Hi, Mikey, Taylor are you both there?” Knoblauch says over the phone as Mikey turns around to face Taylor his eyes wide. 

“Uh, yes sir we can both hear you,” Mikey says, the tremor in his voice evident.

“Myself and the rest of the coaching staff would like to congratulate you on making Team Canada and we look forward to seeing you both make the country proud.” 

It's short, punctual, to the point and Taylor can feel his chest swelling with pride.

Mikey’s stuttering, “Oh my, thank you, sir, it's an honour.” while Taylor's brain attempts to process everything. 

He didn’t think he would get to have this. Darren never got to have this. Darren who sat through 7 rounds twice without having his name called. Darren who cried when Taylor’s was. 

Taylor might have made it here, but he didn’t make it here alone, he made here on the back of practising in the driveway, of following in his brother's footsteps, of being an Erie fucking Otter and getting to play with his brother by his side for the first time ever.

“I really appreciate the opportunity coach,” Taylor finally mutters when Mikey punches him in the arm, dragging him out of his head.

“You’re welcome boys, you put in the work. I’ll see you tomorrow at training,” he says before the line goes dead and silence hangs in the air as Taylor feels his face split into a smile before Mikey turns to grab at him, the pair of them toppling backwards onto the bed the sound of laughter filling the air. 

Suddenly Mikey's face is right there in front of Taylor's and they’re already too close together Mikey's body pressing down on Taylor’s so it takes almost no effort to lift his head and press his lips against Mikeys. It's not fireworks into not anything just Mikey's lips moving smoothly and surely against his until they’re not Mikey pulling back rolling to the side and landing on the floor with a thump as all that mind numbing joy Taylor had been feeling just second ago disappears leaving him feeling exposed and alone. 

 

“Sorry I,” Taylor stutters getting up and making a beeline for the door, he still needs to call his parents, needs to call Darren, needs to get out of here. 

Mikey’s still sitting on the floor between the beds when Taylor glances back. His cheeks flushed and eyes downcast, “I’ve gotta go call Darren,” Taylor mumbles turning the doorknob and feeling into the hallway. 

He does eventually call Darren from the hallway, his back pressed against the wall opposite his door and by the time he slinks back into the room the lights are off Mikey already fast asleep curled around a pillow.

 

Media is exhausting and Mikey is already in the room when Taylor gets back, his laptop propped up on his legs as Taylor drags himself through the door, bone tired and wrung dry.

“Hey,” Mikey says softly, shooting him a smile as Taylor dumps his backpack in the corner and runs his hands through his hair trying to get what was left of the gel and hairspray out. “You finally free?” 

“Yeah,” Taylor says hovering awkwardly between the two beds as he cranes his head to look at Mikey's laptop. 

“I’m halfway through the first ep of Stranger Things,” Mikey says shuffling over on his bed. “Wanna join?”

Taylor doesn’t know if that was the invitation he had been looking for but he tries to ignore the way it makes him feel warm inside as he settles down a hair breadth away from Mikey, their arms not quite touching as he leans back against the pillow.

“So, you going to start the ep again or catch me up?” he laughs willing the last tiny bubble of tension in his chest away. 

Mikey turns to him and smiles, scooting closer until their legs are touching before throwing an arm around Taylor's shoulders and pushing the laptop so that it rests between them. 

“I’ll catch you up,” he whispers his mouth practically brushing Taylor's ear while Taylor attempts to ignore the frantic beating of his heart. 

 

Management announces the captains and then gives them a couple of days to bond. Dylan gets the C, Dylan with everything to prove and nothing really left to lose. Barzal gets one A and Chabby gets the other. The three returning boys with nothing to lose and expectations higher than the mountains. One from the O, one from the W and one from the Q. Team fucking Canada baby.

Dylan used to hate Mat Barzal. Taylor remembers him whining after Halifax, again after Finland last year. Dylan didn’t talk about Helsinki much but when he did it was about how he hated that “fucking rat Barzal” or about Mitch. Darren told Taylor that he used to hate Mitch too but Dylan hating Mitch just sounds wrong, sounds like Davo not being the best player on any given sheet of ice. Taylor played with Davo, Davo makes magic happen without trying, Taylor thinks they could use some of that now but there is no way Edmonton would ever give him up. 

It's just them now, a team of 22 ragtag kids. 

Them and expectations of a country. 

 

They end up at some Team Canada guy’s house for Christmas. Actual Christmas isn’t until tomorrow but this is the way it's done, or so Dylan tells Taylor during the bus ride over. They get suits and a bunch of free shit but mainly they drink wine a long way out of their CHL budgets and gets progressively drunker, the final dregs of homesickness setting in. The realisation that despite the fact tomorrow is Christmas he’s not going home, even if home isn’t really that far away finally hitting Taylor on the way back to the hotel while curled up against the window of the bus Mikey tucked awkwardly into his side.

As they’re getting off the bus Chabby yells that there is monopoly happening in the common room in 5, “be there or don't be you fucking losers” Mat adds, his speech slurring slightly from the coke he had been spiking with rum all night long. They did this last year as well. Taylor remembers Dylan telling him when he got home from Finland. Remembers how it was one of the few things from the tournament he would talk about. How Mat had brought a Monopoly board in his suitcase, how the game had gone for 4 hours, how he had fucking destroyed Marns. Taylor's never been particularly good at Monopoly but the distraction seems as good as any right now. 

“Dibs on the fucking race car,” Dylan yells as they make it to the common room shouldering past Taylor in an attempt to get to the table before him, Chabby already laying out the pieces.

There are already 7 other guys crowded around the tiny table they have it set up on by the time Taylor walks over.

“You can’t just demand the car Strome,” Mat’s yelling from where he’s sitting plastered along Chabot's side.

“Captain’s fucking privilege Barzal,” Dylan spits but he’s smiling and Taylor can't help but laugh at how quickly that rivalry dissolved after a few power play goals. 

“Whatever, I’m taking the dog then,” Mat’s just saying when hand trails across Taylor's shoulders before a head drops down to rest on top of his.

“You wanna play?” Taylor asks twisting himself so that he can see Mikey's face.

“Nah too many people already, I’ll be your cheer squad when you win,” he says softly moving away towards the lounges behind him.

“Come on, I'm shit at this, we can team up,” Taylor says catching his arm because he really is terrible at this but also he doesn’t really want Mikey's hand to leave where it's resting along Taylor's bicep.

“Okay, but I will have you know I have opinions and shit about Monopoly so don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Mikey laughs, eyes flickering like they do on the ice as he moves back in to settle against the back of Taylor's chair. 

Two hours later Dylan goes bankrupt under the combined might of the Barzal-Chabot empire, Taylor hanging on only by his string of hotels on the orange blocks and Mikey’s ruthless bargaining skills. 

“Fuck you guys, honestly,” Dylan spits out glaring at his A’s where they are huddled together in the corner. “You too Mikey, Taylor's only in this because you just McLeod everyone when you play this.”

“It's been an honour to crush you once again Stromer,” Mikey says smiling as Taylor tries not to dislodge him from where he had settled perched on his thigh a good ten rounds ago. 

“You gonna play on, or concede to these cheating fuckers,” Mikey asks leaning in to whisper in Taylor's ears while Dylan continues cussing out everyone in hearing distance.

“Probably just going to crash,” Taylor mutters glancing to the side where Mat and Chabby are already tallying up their winnings. “These losers seem to think it's over anyway.”

They laugh on the way back to their room, stumbling with the last of the alcohol in their veins their fingers catching in a way that makes Taylor’s heart race.

 

They don’t wake up the next morning to the soft sound of snow, instead just to dreary Toronto skies and a sense of abnormality. theres a small pile of presents in the bottom of Taylor's bag and he knows it's the same for Mikey. It's weird being less that 30 minutes from home and not being there, not helping put the presents under the Christmas tree and chasing after one too many cousins. 

Taylor can hear the shower door slamming in the bathroom as the water shuts off and Mikey stumbles out water droplets still running down his chest until the stop at the towel around his waist.

“Hey am I cool to FaceTime my family while you shower, and then we can head down to breakfast together,” Mikey asks absent mindless running his hair through his hair sending water everywhere as he digs through his bag not even looking at Taylor. It's probably a good thing but Taylor thinks as he maps the lines of Mikey's back with his eyes following the water droplets as they trail down his neck.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” stutters Taylor as he wrenches his gaze away hurriedly rushing towards the bathroom before Mikey realises something's up silently breathing himself the entire way. Things were just getting back to normal, things were just starting to feel normal between them again and Taylor's not about to do anything to fuck that up.

When Taylor comes back into the room Mikeys still talking on the bed, this laptop propped up against the pillows as he lies on his stomach facing it, someone Taylor's not familiar with taking up most of the screen. He tries not to interrupt quietly grabbing a sweater from his back and letting the sound of Mikey talking just wash over him until he hears the laptop close with a quiet thud. 

“Good chat,” he asks when the silence drags on too long, Mikey still staring at the wall behind his bed.

“Yeah, it was good to talk to Matt. I don’t get to see him as much you know.”

It takes Taylor a moment to piece it all together, Matt, Matt McLeod. The older brother.

“I can’t imagine not having Darren,” Taylor says, moving to lie down on the bed beside Mikey. “He’s just always been there you know, Even when he first went to Erie he didn’t seem that far away because I always just assumed to would be on the same team as him again soon.”

“Are you guys close, like I wish I was closer with Matt, but I don’t know. I think I spend too much time as a kid wishing that Ryan Strome was my older brother instead of Dylan's.”

“Yeah, we’re close I guess. He's my best friend really, has been since I was six years old,” Taylor pauses taking a deep breath. “He’s the first person I told when I realised I liked boys, he’s always had my back right since the very beginning.”

“He sounds great,” Mikey sighs wiggling towards the side of the bed as he starts to get up. “You calling him later?”

“Yeah after lunch, he's going to try and FaceTime me into the present opening, prop me up on a stool or something.”

“Let me know when and I will get out of your hair, go annoy Stromer or something,” Mikey says shoving his laptop back in his bag and gesturing to the door smiling. “Breakfast?”

“I want like 20 waffles,” Taylor laughs dragging himself off the bed to follow Mikey.

Mikey’s hand is on the door handle when he pauses, the air between them suddenly weirdly charged as he turns to face Taylor “When we made the team did you mean to…” Mikey trails off, his cheeks going red as he ducks to avoid Taylor's gaze. 

“Yeah,” Taylor says quietly, still not sure if he’s crossing some sort of unwritten boundary line.

“Did you like it,” he says hopefully, looking up for under his eyelashes like he knows exactly what that does to Taylor, what it's been doing to Taylor for years.

“Yeah,” he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks and is sure that if he turned to look at the mirror next to his face would be bright red and spreading down his neck.

“Oh,” Mikey says like he's not quite sure what to do with that, the gut-wrenching anxiety Taylor had been suppressing for what feels like weeks boiling up to the surface.

“I’m sorry for that,” Taylor says the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rushed blur as he fights to suppress the swelling shame. “Well okay I'm not sorry for it, but I'm sorry for not asking you beforehand’”

“You could you know,” Mikey whispers, barely audible, his eyes fixed on the carpet.

Taylor freezes. “Could what.”

Mikey shrugs his eyes meeting Taylor's looking all stupidly wide and hopeful. “Ask.”

“Oh,” Taylor stutter, “Maybe I will then,” he says smirking at Mikey where he's backed up against the door, his eyes suddenly bright.

“Yeah,” Mikey says, sounding like the air had been punched out of him, a smile already tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah.” Taylor sighs, slowly boxing Mikey in against the door smiling until their chests bump.

“So Mikey, can I kiss you?” he knows his smiling, knows he's grinning like a fool when there forwards touch and their teeth clang together as Mikey laughs into the kiss. The sound reverberating from his chests to Taylor's.

 

Taylor knocks his helmet against Mikey’s as they stand in the hallway waiting for the doors to open. Dylan has already made the rounds all bottled up and jittery excitement but Taylor gets it, gets how much this means to him, gets how much it matters to be doing this here and now with that letter stitched on his chest. It's what Toronto kids always dream of. The ACC. Taylor was never part of The Mississauga Contingent but he gets it, remembers skating around at age 14 with a Leaf on his chest pretending it was a different leaf of his chest and that the game was in his hands. 

“You ready for this?” Mikey says as they pull back despite the fact that the toes of their skates are still almost touching. 

“I feel like I’ve been ready for this my entire life,” Taylor says laughing at the absurdity of it. “We’re gonna light it up out there right?”

“Says the OHL’s leading scorer,” Mikey replies, grin wolf-like and a little crazy, “But yeah T, we’re going light this shit up.”

It's the first time Mikey has called him T since they were 15, and before Taylor can get anything other than a smile out Dylan’s voice is booming over the noise of the hallway a sharp let's go fucking win this slapping his gloved hand against Mats before following him out onto the ice.

All Taylor can see at first heading out the tunnel is Mikey's number in front of him, the white twenty keeping him anchored amongst the light and the roar of the ACC crowd as his skate hits the ice for the very first time. 

It’s Russia at the other end of the ice and they all know what this means. They all know that it means more to Dylan and Barzal and Chabby who are already circling the ice like sharks even though the anthems haven’t even been sung yet. They all know they have to win this. 

Taylor’s on the ice when Dylan scores his first, and then again when Mat scores his. Can feel the vicious relief pouring off both of them in waves as they huddle against the glass screaming in each other's ears. Can remember Mikey’s face on the bench as they cycle past and can almost pretend that maybe their hands held onto each other for a beat longer than anyone else.

They stand next to each other during the anthem, shoulder bumping as they watch the flag get raised towards the rafters.

Later that night they fall into bed next to each other too tired to do anything but kiss despite the adrenaline still buzzing through their veins. 

“Hey,” Mikey says softly after the third time Taylor viciously twitches under him almost toppling the pair of them onto the floor. “You okay?”

Taylor bites the inside of his lip shaking his head before moving back in hoping Taylor will just go back to kissing him so he can concentrate on the feel of Mikey's lips against his and not all the ways he screwed up today.

“Come on Tay don’t do this,” he says grabbing his hands and holding them in one of his effector stopping Taylor in his slow quest to drag Mikeys T-shirt off. 

“I didn’t score, I still haven’t scored,” Taylor mutters tipping his head forward towards Mikey’s shoulder before mouthing at the small bit of collarbone exposed by his shirt. 

“Tay,” Mikey says and he feels dumb because it is dumb. Even if the O is the O this is World Juniors and he shouldn’t expect to be scoring at the same rate he has been but still it hurts, he feels useless, feels like nothing he is doing really counts. 

“I know, I know it's stupid but, I'm a scorer, what else did they bring me here for?” Taylor whispers his voice hitching. “I didn’t even make summer camp Mikey, what if they made a mistake.”

“Taylor listen to me,” Mikey says rolling so that he's on top of Taylor forearms bracketing either side of his head. “You’re supposed to be. You’re going to light it up. And next game you’re going to fucking score”

“Don’t say that,”

“Nah listen to me, I'm good at this. Nater calls it McLeoding. It's going to happen, dude, don’t question it.”

“If you say so,” Taylor says quietly into the darkness.

“I know so,” Mikey whispers pulling Taylor tight against him and Taylor still doesn’t know what this means, still doesn’t know how to even ask.

 

“He texted me earlier asking if he could drop by my house and steal a jersey as if he doesn’t already have a key because he wants to wear it to the game tomorrow,” Mikeys saying looking happier than he has since the official roster was announced and his name in the 13th forward slot. 

“Who’s this,” Taylor says pulling his chair out at the table, a plate piled high with pasta and chicken balanced on one hand.

“Mikey's husband, his forever boy,” says Dylan laughing from the other side of the table as Taylor tries to ignore the way his stomach drops.

“It's just Nater,” Mikey hisses but his cheeks are pink and Taylor feels like he wants to be sick because everyone knows about Mikey McLeod and Nathan Bastian. Taylor remembers Bastian going a few picks ahead of him, remembers the whispers echoing around the draft floor about how not even the NHL could separate the super buddies.

“Yeah, just Nater who has your house key and is wearing your actual jersey tomorrow and who you fucking McLeoded New Jersey into drafting so you didn’t have to go without him.”

Taylor falls into his seat banging heavily against the backrest. 

“You okay?” Mikey says leaning over to whisper in his ear.

Taylor doesn’t really want to answer but Mikeys looking at him with those eyes so he does anyway. “Yeah, just stressing.” he eventually says before tacking on “I’ll be fine but.” when Mikey starts looking like he's trying to find a way to make it better. 

it's not like Taylor was under the assumption that this thing was serious, sure there was Christmas and the talk they had not even a week ago and maybe Taylor thought they were on the same page but its fine, its a world juniors fling, it's more than Taylor could have ever hope for even a month ago

 

Nathan Bastian is standing on the other side of the glass wearing Mikey’s Top Prospects jersey and all Taylor can see is red. Well, red with an undercurrent of longing, an undercurrent of wanting a person, a person just for him. No one is coming to see Taylor play, like sure there is his brother and his parents and a couple of guys from school were going to see if they could swing last minute tickets but no one like Nathan Bastian. Nathan who is currently standing rinkside his phone planted in front of his face probably taking a million photos while Mikey tries not to blush.

“That your boy?” Taylor asks bumping into him. It's not like he hasn’t met Bastian before, they hung out some at the combine but then again Taylor spent most of his spare time with Brinsky while Bastian was sneaking out of the hotel with Mikey and Duber to take pictures on that stupid buffalo statue. 

There’s a picture of them all together somewhere, Taylor's not sure who's Instagram it was for but he remembers Mikey nudging him over in the seat and flinging his arms around his shoulder. Taylor wonders if his heart stuttered then like it stutters now but he can't really remember.

Mikey shrugs “He really not my boy,” he says tilting his head towards the glass as they skate back around towards the far side. “He’s my best friend but it's not like that.”

The way he says it like he needs Taylor to believe it doesn’t feel like a boy pining over his best friend, it sounds like Dylan after too many drinks talking softly about how he misses Connor like a phantom limb.

“There’s something about you Mississauga boys and your best friends,” Taylor laughs, his heart feeling a little bit lighter than it did before.

“Yeah, Yeah there sort of is,” Mikey says fondly looking over to Nate behind the glass who is still grinning and attempting to gesture something to Dylan. 

“You gonna get him a goal?” It's a simple question but Mikey stiffens up beside him, the smile sliding off his face. 

“Gonna have to get some ice time first,” he says tensely.

“Don’t worry it’ll come and then you’ll fucking light it up,” Taylor says knocking their shoulders together as Dylan throws a puck over the glass laughing as Nater catches it grasping it close to his chest. Mikey smiles at him, all teeth like he used to when they were just kids and Taylor struggles to keep the air in his lungs as he drifts into the boards coming to a stop with a gentle sigh. 

They win. 

Taylor scores. 

Mitch Stephens gets injured but then Mikey scores too. 

It’s pretty great.

 

Mikey can't stop laughing at the movie they’re watching, his face tucked into Taylor’s shoulder and his breath tickling Taylor's neck. It's late the pair of them crashing into the room after the game a trail of Team Canada clothing strewn across the space between the door and the foot of Taylor's bed, the pair of them stripped down to sweatpants when Taylor's stomach rumbles.

“Shh,” Mikey says absentmindedly patting awkwardly at Taylor's stomach as if it was going to be quiet because he asked.

“Did you just shush my stomach,” Taylor laughs knocking Mikey off his shoulder the other boy mock glaring at him as his head hits the mattress. “Come one, you have to be hungry too.” 

“Like I guess I could eat,” says Mikey picking mindlessly at the string of Taylor’s sweatpants. 

“Pass me the room service menu?” he asks groaning when Mikey grabs it only to lob it across the room “Come on Mikey don't be a dick I'm starving here.”

“Okay, but what if I don’t want room service? What if I was pierogies.” Mikey says, smile on his face like he just told a particularly good joke or landed a particularly good pass and Taylor doesn’t know what he sees in him sometimes. 

“Pierogies,” Taylor asks his eyebrow quirking as Mikey shimmies off the bed heading towards his suitcase.

“Yeah pierogies, there is one on Church Street, if we jog we can make it before they close.”

They do make before closing, sliding into the door with their hats pulled low over their faces and their hoods up, laughing quietly to themselves as they stumble inside and place their orders.

“You want to go straight back?” asks Mikey as he grabs his box immediately opening it and stuffing two in his mouth. 

“Nah, we could go to the park around the corner? I think they have benches,” Taylor says, stifling a laugh when Mikey tries to smile in response. “Did Mama McLeod never teach you manners that's disgusting Clouder.” The nickname slips out without meaning to but Mikey had called him T this morning so maybe they’re at that point, the point they never quite made it to as kids.

Mikey finishes his pierogies before they even get to the park sliding onto the park bench its cold but Taylor’s box is keeping his hands warm and Mikey’s pressed tight along his side as they huddle to one end of the bench. 

“That is the fucking weirdest fountain I have ever seen,” Mikey laughs, pressing his head into Taylor's shoulder as he points towards the fenced off area in front of them. He's not wrong, there is a golden dog bone at the top and an assortment of tiny dog statues positioned around it but still, it's not the weirdest thing 

Taylor sighs “I think it's nice,” he says resting his head on top of Mikey's. He's not wrong about the fountain, there is a golden dog bone at the top and an assortment of tiny dog statues positioned around it but still, it's not the weirdest thing Taylor has seen.

“Of course you think it's nice,” Mikey mutters reaching out and stealing a pierogi from him and Taylor can feel him smiling softly against his shoulder as he does it.

“What's that even supposed to mean?” Taylor asks, embolden by a goal, the cold Toronto and the feeling of Mikey's thigh pressed against his own. 

“Just that you were always the best of us T, you’re good at finding that silver lining, of being the guy to point out the positives.” 

His hand is curled in Taylor’s sweatshirt now, in the small amount of fabric sticking out from under his coat. It feels like a moment, a Moment with a capital M and Taylor wants to bottle it and keep it close for to his heart forever. Somewhere in the distance laughter clatters down the street, then a bus pulls up people spilling out and the moments gone. 

 

They don’t mean to light Latvia up but they do and Mikeys leaning all the way into Taylor’s space on the bench. His hand brushing the exposed skin of Taylor’s wrist where it rests against the boards. He’s got the hat trick in the bag, the adrenaline still thrumming through his body for the feeling when the puck slid into the net. 

“You gonna go for another?” Mikey laughs when they‘re tucked together on the bench during a tv timeout. 

“I don’t know, Maty’s looking for the hatty, might help him. Hit him up with a sick assist instead,” Taylor finds himself saying, they’re up seven and it's not yet but he just scored a hat trick at World Juniors, no one is going to care if he is a little high on himself.

“Super line much?” says Mikey just loud enough the Mat swivels from where he’s sitting on the other side of Taylor.

“Jealous McLeod,” He says squirting his water bottle in Mikey's direction effectively getting it all over Taylor.

“See if I pass to you again,” Taylor scoffs.

The game plays out like a circus act with more goals than they can count. Taylor laughs high pitched and hysterical when he gets his fourth the absurdity of it all crashing down around him. Dylan's screaming something about a Canadian record from the bench when he skates past but he can barely hear him over the roar of the crowd and the buzz in his ears. 

 

They lose to the USA. Marner is in the crowd and Dylan is a shadow of himself and every part of Taylor feels wrecked. It feels like last year. Feels like standing at the center of The Bud, downtrodden after being swept and watching Dylan all but collapse into Marner’s arms, clinging to him like its the only thing keeping him upright. 

Mikeys next to him in the anthem lines, his hand twisting in the side of his jersey still a ball of pent up adrenaline and frustration and Taylor gets how Dylan felt. Like the game wasn't supposed to end like this. Like all he wanted to was to have someone hold him and tell him it was going to be fine. That they were going to be better next time. That they had to be better next time. This was Canada. This was home ice. There isn’t another option. 

 

Taylor spends the flight to Canada tucked under a flimsy blanket by himself at the back of plane. Dylan curled up under Mikey's arm four rows ahead of him. Taylor never had any misconceptions about being number one he just thought that maybe in Mikey's eyes for a while he was.

 

They arrive in Montreal and the air is cold biting at any exposed skin like a hungry wolf and Taylor finds himself rubbing at his wrists, staving off frostbite as he hurries from the plane to the bus. The airs dark around them and even as everyone settles in, bone tired and weary they know what they have to do. Everyone knows what's a stake.

 

It's New Years Day and they’re laying together on the bed waiting out the half an hour until dinner when Mikey's phone buzzes against the side table and Taylor tightens his arm around Mikey's waist in anticipation of him moving. 

“Ignore it,” Taylor whines, fitting himself in even closer to Mikey's side the space between them non-existent. 

“But,” Mikey starts before Taylor wraps his arm even closer, smacking a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“I’m comfy,” he says, and he knows he probably sounds like a spoilt child but Mikeys looking down at him with a fond look on his face and Taylor's doing his best to ignore the warm feeling thrumming through his veins.

Mikey curls himself closer, the warms of him pushing in even closer. “Okay,” he says like it's the easiest thing and Taylor can’t ignore the rush, the feelings of being chosen, of being allowed, of being first if only for a second. 

 

They win against the Czech Republic this is Canada and this is home ice and they’re can't be a repeat of the USA game, losing just isn't and option. Mikey plays on Dylan's line and Taylor spends half his time on the bench staring in awe of them. The way you can see the history in every one of their plays, of summers spent playing road hockey and of knowing someone better than you know yourself. So Mikey plays, and Canada wins and at the end of the day, him and Taylor tumble into bed together a mess of lazy kisses and gentle words. Waking up twined around each other like they're the only things tethering each other to the earth. Taylor doesn’t know how this ends, doesn’t know how he’s going to go back to being Taylor Raddysh boy who loved Michael McLeod after knowing what it's like to have him, to run his fingers down Mikey's spine and feel the way the air huffed out of him as he laughed. Doesn’t know how he goes back to looking on from the sidelines when he knows what it's like to have all of the attention in that too wide smile turned on him. So they play and they win and they wake up wrapped in each other ready to do it all again.

 

Of course, it's the USA, of course, its the USA and its the gold medal game and Taylor maybe wants to be sick. He's leaning against Mikey's side on the bus the two of them squished together on a seat, hands tangled between them, pulses hammering against each other. 

Mikeys saying something about the power play and can't stop himself leaning over and pressing a quiet kiss to the corner of his mouth, laughing quietly with himself when Mikey stops mid-sentence his cheeks colouring as he turns to face Taylor.

“Hey we’re going to do it okay,” he says lifting a hand to cup Taylor’s jaw as Taylor feels the air rush out of him.

Taylor smiles. “I know I just.”

“Don’t,” Mikey says “we’ve got this, you and me against the world right.”

“Do we,”

“Of course”

“And what about after, are we still.”

“Ask me after we win,” Mikey whispers almost fervently. “Ask me when there's a gold medal around our necks.”

He says it with such conviction that Taylor is helpless but to listen to him. Go our there. Skate. Score. Win gold. Kiss Mikey with their medals clinking. It all seems simple, laid out before him in a strict set of plays.

 

Taylor did not mean to fall in love with Michael McLeod but he did. And maybe in the end that's why they lost.

 

They don't stand next to each other in the medal line.

Taylor feels like an open wound, gaping and raw and there is nothing more he wants to do than reach out and grab at Mikey. Mikey who is standing 3 places away because it somehow felt wrong to keep doings what they were doing. To stand next to each other in defeat when they had already done it once. It feels like if they were to touch the world might implode. Taylor feels like this might be being dramatic but he also doesn't care. He hurts too much to care right now. 

Mikey, Mikey who played brilliantly, Mikey who kept them together on the bench who got four shift and sent a pass up the ice for Jo that put them two up. Their last goal. The lead they couldn’t hold. 

It seems wrong to stand next to Mikey when Mikey made everything happen with the fraction of a chance he was given. When Mikey who didn’t get to skate in overtime but who sat there and held Taylor's hand under the bench when he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. Mikey who never got a shot to change the ending but should have. 

 

It's quiet in the dressing room after. Dylan goes to media tear stained and downtrodden and Taylor strips down to his base layers and curls up in his stall, Mikey 5 feet away and yet somehow untouchable his hands tracing the back of his silver medal with laser focus. It was supposed to be gold. It was supposed to be gold and Taylor was supposed to kiss Mikey in the locker room while Dylan laughed and Mat cried and Connor Ingram wrapped them in a hug before showering them in gatorade. Now there's only silence.

 

The door slams and Taylor flinches but there's Dylan, dressed in his Team Canada suit, silver medal around his neck somehow triumphant among the carnage.

“So I planned a speech which was stupid maybe but hey,” He laughs self-deprecatingly as he steps to the middle of the room all eyes fixed on him. “Last year. Last year I remember losing. I remember going home with nothing. This year I'm going home part of a family. Don’t fucking forget that.”

He paused. “I’ve never been more proud to be a captain of this team than I am this one.”

Taylor doesn’t know what to do, frozen in his stall but then Mats getting up from where he had been glued to Chabbys side wrapping Dylan in a hug and suddenly the locker room is descending into chaos a mess of sweaty tired tear stained bodies clinging to each other. Somehow in the mess of it all Mikey finds Taylor smiling at him with big sad eyes as he draws him in, tucking Taylor’s body into his one as if to protect him from the world

Maybe it's not the ending they pictured but it's an ending none the less. 

 

They're waiting for the elevator when Mikey asks. Just them and Dylan and Speersy heading back to their room after the final team meeting. They're all flying out tomorrow anyway. All going back to their home clubs, stretched from Seattle to St John's. 

“Hey, let's get a photo,” he says waving his phone as they all crowd in.

Dylan ends holding the camera while Mikey wraps an arm around Speersy’s chest pulling his back tight against him. The other hand is out of sight, tangled with Taylor’s own out of frame.

 

Taylor doesn’t ask when they finally reach their room when Mikey pulls him inside and kisses him hard. There are no medals clinking. No weight around their neck and Taylor’s so scared for this to end. 

They fall to sleep chest to chest, skin sticky with sweat and Taylor doesn’t ask. Doesn’t ask regardless of how much it threatens to bubble out of him at any given moment. Despite how many times he had to bite down on his worlds while Mikeys looked down on him with a wide smile made of too many teeth as he leant down to kiss him. 

They don’t talk about it until they get to departures Taylor flying through Detroit, Mikey going to Toronto.

Taylor's standing three feet back when he says “I’m going to miss you.” They haven’t touched since they left the hotel. A clean break. 

“T,” Mikey says and Taylor doesn’t know if he’s imagining how sad he sounds.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” it's short and clipped but Taylor's fighting against the feelings lodged in his throat turning as he turns towards customs.

“T,” Mikey says again and for a moment Taylor doesn’t listen. Forcing himself instead to take another step. It was just an international tourney thing. Maybe it could have been something else but it wasn’t that wasn’t how this story ends in the same way that there's a silver medal stashed in the bottom of his backpack instead of gold.

“T, ask me please.” Taylor can see Dylan in front of him already at the entry to customs, his eyebrows raised as if to question what’s taking so long but Mikey’s standing behind him and Taylor can’t just bring himself to walk away. 

A hand touches his arm slowly turning him back around and it's Mikey, it's been Mikey since Taylor can remember. 

“But we didn’t win, you told me to ask when we won.” Taylor doesn’t know how desperate he sounds, doesn’t know if he sounds like his entire world had been tilted on its axis

Mikey knocks the back of their hands together, a small smile growing on his face “So we come back next year and we do it all again.” He pushes.

Taylor Sighs “That's not how it works Mikey.”

“But what if it does. What if I want it to.” Mikey says and Taylor's stomach tightens because it's everything he wanted but Mikey said what he said and he can’t take that back. Can’t take back a promise built on gold medals and glowing hope. On glowing hearts.

“You can’t just make it happen. You can’t McLeod yourself into a gold medal Mikey.”

“Ask me, Taylor. Ask me and we’ll find out,” he’s begging now, his hand tightly clutching Taylor's own

Taylor phone buzzes. It's Dylan telling him to hurry the fuck up.

“I, I have a flight to catch,” Taylor says because he can’t do this, not here not in an airport in Montreal with all these eyes when there's a silver medal weighing down his bag.

“T,” It's quiet this time, resigned and Taylor can feel his heart breaking.

“I'm not saying no, but I can’t do this here Mikey, I can’t do this now,” the words are spilling out of Taylor’s mouth faster than he can keep track of. “February 11th. Its a week before my birthday. We play each other then. If you still want to.” Taylor trails off

“I’ll ask you, but Taylor you’ve got to know I'm all in.” 

Taylor nods “I know. February 11th okay,” he says with as much meaning as he can pack into five worlds. 

“February 11th,” Mikey smiles, pulling Taylor in crushing him against his chest his hands clutching tight at the fabric over his shoulder blades. “I really like you T,” he mutters into Taylor's hair.

Taylor smiles. “I really like you too Clouder,” he says pulling back. 

 

Dylan laughs when he makes it to their gate, jogging so he doesn’t miss it. Ruffling his hair and saying You did good kid. There’s a text on his phone. A single heart. And a date saved on his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> [#receipts](http://dwstrome.tumblr.com/post/162821589757/taylor-raddyshmikey-mcleod-a-wj-primer)


End file.
